


And your body was the map

by coffeejunkii



Series: In Heat [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Clint is a good caretaker, Cuddling & Snuggling, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Phil Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeejunkii/pseuds/coffeejunkii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil briefly glances at him before returning his eyes to their clasped hands. “This is really happening.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Clint pushes up on his knees to gather Phil into his arms. A strong hand rubs Phil's back. “And I'm here for all of it. Whatever you need.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And your body was the map

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, yes. Baby! In the making, at least. And lots of soul-searching about what all that means. 
> 
> Title is from "Your Rocky Spine" by Great Lake Swimmers.
> 
> Many thanks for Rurounihime and to Tesla_Maple for betaing!

Phil spends the weeks after the heat in limbo. He feels betrayed by his body in a way he never experienced before. It takes a month before he doesn't wake up wondering if another heat might hit that day, wrenching him out of his routine and submitting him to an ache that sits so deep it can't be soothed.

Clint notices. But he doesn't pressure Phil to talk about it. Instead, he shows Phil how much he cares through little touches, drawing him in for more hugs than usual, and making sure Phil knows that he is loved. Those gestures get Phil through the day. Sometimes, it's as little as Clint's fingers stroking over the back of his neck as they're looking at a file together. A few minutes of this, and the knot in Phil's stomach eases. He isn't sure if it's due to his hormones still leveling out, or Clint being his mate, or the simple comfort of the touch. In any case, it helps and Phil is grateful.

One night, Clint hovers over putting away the laundry. He's standing next to the open drawer, a pair of socks in his hand, for at least a minute. Phil closes his book and gets out of bed. He makes sure to walk across the floorboard that creaks to avoid startling Clint. The sound makes Clint look up. He drops the socks into the drawer, bending down to get another pair from the basket.

“You can finish that tomorrow. No need to do it today.” 

“I don't mind.”

Phil stops Clint with a hand to his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

Clint straightens the socks in the drawer. Phil knows he's only doing that for his benefit. Clint doesn't care if the socks are a jumble. “Yeah. Fine.”

Phil slides his hand down Clint's back to his hip. “Come to bed? Please?”

Clint finishes arranging the socks and pushes the drawer shut. He gets under the covers first, Phil sliding in next to him. Clint lies down, a sign that he doesn't want to read or play games on his phone. Stretching a hand toward the nightstand, Phil asks, “Lights off?”

Clint hums in affirmation. He reaches for Phil, drawing him into his arms. Phil wiggles for a few moments until he's found a comfortable position, his head pillowed on Clint's chest. He won't be able to fall asleep like this, but it's nice, being held, for no other reason than Clint wanting him close. 

“I've been thinking,” Clint begins. His voice is hushed. “If you want to put the implant back in, I understand.”

Phil forces himself to remain where he is instead of pushing up to see Clint's face. “What makes you think I'd want that?”

“Because I see you worry. Every day. And I know it's because—I just want you to stop worrying so much.”

Phil tilts his head up to rub his nose against Clint's jaw. Clint makes a pleased noise that sends warmth through Phil. “I haven't changed my mind. I still want—” He shouldn't still have problems saying this out loud, but no matter how much he wants this, it remains exciting and terrifying. “I still want a child with you.”

“So do I. So much.” The words tumble from Clint's mouth. His arms tighten around Phil.

“Rationally, I know that this last heat was unusual and the next one will be better, but...” His heart isn't quite there yet.

“Yeah.” Clint's fingers trail down Phil's arm, up and down, a continuous motion that almost lulls him into sleep. When Clint gently rolls him onto his side, Phil barely notices. He drops off completely soon after Clint has molded his body to Phil's back.

**

Phil stops feeling restless by the time winter turns into spring. The increase in sunshine and the fresh green all over the city certainly help. Clint's affection continues and branches out to spaces beyond Phil's office. The notion that no one knows about their partnership turns into a carefully maintained illusion.

One morning, Phil scans through the latest status reports from all active ops as he walks past the sea of cubicles making most of this floor. He stops when Clint's laughter rings out from somewhere on his left. He decides to investigate.

Finding Clint with a small baby tucked into the crook of his arm, free hand playing with tiny socked feet, is not what Phil expected. Clint's smile broadens when he spots Phil; the other four agents milling about straighten to attention.

“Agent Coulson,” a young man greets, shoving a rattle onto the desk behind him. Morrison, Phil thinks. Third-year analyst. He and his bondmate recently had a child. Presumably the one currently held by Clint. “My partner—Agent Chen—got called out on a mission unexpectedly and I was on monitoring duty for our surveillance in Shanghai, but the daycare only opens at seven. So—”

Phil holds up his hand. “I understand. Finding adequate childcare when working for SHIELD can be a challenge.” He's been looking into it, after all, and has quickly realized why the daycare occupies nearly an entire floor. The required security clearances for private childcare providers that are not family members are a nightmare.

Morrison looks relieved. “Thank you, sir. Casey's a good baby. She won't be a problem.”

Clint steps closer. “She's two months old today.” 

Big brown eyes look up at Phil. It's unnerving. Clint aside, Phil isn't used to being studied so openly. “Hi there.”

“D'you wanna hold her?” Clint looks at Morrison. “If that's okay.”

Morrison nods. “Sure, she's good with strangers.”

Phil wants to point out that this isn't the best idea, but Clint places the baby into his arms before he can get the words out. Clint fusses with Phil's arms and hands for longer than necessary and then forcibly takes a half-step back.

Casey still looks up at Phil with interest. He looks back, mesmerized. He runs his thumb over the back of her hands. Everything about her is tiny and light and fragile. Or seemingly fragile. He knows babies are resilient.

“She likes you,” Morrison observes. “Probably an Omega thing—” He flushes. “I mean, that's Miles' opinion. I don't really think it makes a difference. Obviously.”

Phil acknowledges Morrison's backpedaling with a brief nod. One of the other agents still hanging out near Morrison's cubicle takes a picture of him with her phone. Phil decides against calling her out on it even if that means the photo will circulate around the agency.

“If you wouldn't mind watching her for a few more minutes, I could run these down to R&D.” Morrison waves a few folders, looking between Phil and Clint.

“Sure thing,” Clint replies with an ease that Phil doesn't share.

“Thank you. Be back in five.” He disappears, and the other agents make their way to their stations, leaving Phil alone with Clint.

Clint leans against Phil, one arm coming around him. His hand slides under Phil's suit jacket and settles just above his belt. Since the view of them is partially obscured by a filing cabinet, Phil doesn't protest. He shifts Casey to rest against his chest, keeping one hand loosely against her back. Her fingers curl around Phil's lapel.

Clint's fingers smooth over Casey's soft hair before coming to rest over Phil's hand. Phil lets Clint take some of his weight. All of this crosses so many lines Phil has about professionalism in the workplace, but he can't help himself. He can feel the deep pull of his instincts. He almost bares his neck to Clint. It's unsettling yet also feels right, standing there with Clint surrounding him, the murmur of the office not enough to drown out the sound of Casey's soft breaths. Phil wants to touch his cheek to the top of her head and take in her scent. She won't smell right because she isn't theirs, but he can imagine what it would be like to hold their baby, smelling like them. Maybe they'll have a girl, too. Or a boy. Phil's not picky. But he _wants_ this, fiercely so, in ways he hasn't before. He's glad that Clint isn't talking to him because his throat feels too tight to let any words through.

Phil sluggishly registers fast-approaching footsteps. Morrison turns into the cubicle before Clint has entirely pulled away. Recognition flashes through Morrison's eyes, quickly replaced by the bland expression SHIELD teaches each agent with varying levels of success. “Thanks again.”

“You're welcome.” Phil prides himself in the steadiness of his voice. He hands Casey back to Morrison and nods at Clint to follow him. 

The walk to his office feels endless. They stand at opposite ends of the elevator. Clint's eyes are sharp and hungry. Phil's pulse speeds up; he wonders if Clint can sense it. 

They finally reach their destination. Phil slams the door shut while Clint punches in the override that disables the security cameras. Clint crowds him against the door, hands roughly tugging Phil's shirt from his pants until they can reach skin. Phil tugs him closer until their lips meet, open-mouthed and messy. He grasps the back of Clint's neck, keeping him in place. Soft moans convey Clint's approval, as does the firm press of his hips. This is probably the point when Phil should put an end to this, but he can't, not yet. Desire tips into pleasure as his cock begins to fill. He can feel Clint, already a few steps ahead of him. It would be so easy to shove his hand down Clint's pants and get him off. It wouldn't take more than a few strokes. Phil whines and rocks up against Clint. There's an answering push of Clint's hips, and another, and that's when Phil finally pulls back.

“Gonna come,” he whispers against Clint's lips.

Clint's fingers dig into the small of Phil's back. “Don't stop. 'm so close.” 

Phil shudders. Clint has stopped moving, but their bodies are still slotted together. Clint's real scent is coming through despite the overlay of Beta pheromones. It's intoxicating.

“Please.” Clint mouths along Phil's neck. He barely makes contact with Phil's skin, but each brush of lips sets off sparks nevertheless.

Phil's hand drifts over Clint's thigh to the front of his pants. Clint's already in his tac suit; he's scheduled for combat training in an hour. The soft fabric makes it easy to tease along the edges of Clint's cock. When Phil's thumb circles over the head, Clint groans, his hands trembling against Phil's back. Phil can tell that it almost pushed him over the edge, but Clint is holding himself back. They have rules about intimacy at the office, after all. Rules that Phil is about to toss out the window.

His fingers feel for the seam between the top and bottom part of Clint's field suit. There's a tiny opening just above his left hip that can be used to easily separate the fabric. It's designed for emergency access in case of injuries. Phil hooks his thumb into the gap and pushes. Clint shivers when Phil's hand slides into his pants, the pads of his fingers bumping against the sticky head of his cock.

Clint's moan at Phil's first stroke rings through the office. The soundproofing is excellent, so Phil sets out to draw more desperate sounds out of Clint. He doesn't have much room, but he can twist his wrist and keep his grip tight, which is more than enough for Clint, who pushes up into Phil's hand. Satisfaction rushes through Phil when Clint comes in hot spurts over his wrist. Clint clings to Phil, head dropping to his shoulder.

“Can't believe you did that,” Clint mumbles.

“It's a one-time exception.” It probably isn't. Horse out of the barn and so on. But Phil needs to keep up the pretense, at least.

“Uhuh.”

Phil slides his hand out of Clint's pants. He's about to step away to get the anti-bacterial wipes he keeps in his desk when Clint grasps his wrist and licks across his palm. Phil finds himself rooted to the spot as Clint's tongue swipes across his hand again and again. Phil's cock hardens more, precome sliding down from the tip. His boxers are most likely ruined at this point.

When Clint is done, he drops Phil's hand. “Will you let me make you come?”

There's no point in resisting. Phil nods, slumping back against the door. When Clint gets to his knees, Phil lets out a helpless noise. He appreciates that Clint pushes his suit pants down to his ankles. They'll be wrinkled, but he can probably get away with wearing them the rest of the day. Clint tugs Phil's boxers down just far enough to get at his cock. When Clint's mouth closes over it, Phil sighs. Clint is so very, very good at this, and he knows exactly how to use his lips and tongue to make Phil beg. At times, Clint keeps him on a razor-sharp edge, but today, he pushes Phil with a brutal efficiency. Phil tugs at Clint's hair, but Clint keeps going, swallowing when Phil comes. 

Phil is still in a haze when Clint tucks him back into his boxers and pulls his pants back up. Before zipping them, Clint places a series of soft kisses on Phil's abdomen, his hand a warm press right above Phil's navel. The tender gesture nearly knocks Phil off his feet. He grasps Clint's shoulders and hauls him up into his arms. They hold each other close for long moments.

“You look really hot holding a baby, by the way,” Clint murmurs.

Phil laughs. “Do I?”

“Hmm. Wish you were in heat now.”

Those words hit hard. Not for the first time, Phil wishes that his heats were regular. “Soon, hopefully.”

“Yeah.” Clint steps out of the embrace. His hands smooth over Phil's shirt.

They straighten their clothes as best as they can. Phil is glad that he keeps a change of everything in his office, and Clint has a whole stash in his locker on the range. 

With a hand on the door handle, Clint looks as if he wants to say something to Phil, but then he leans in to kiss him again, possessiveness and warmth blending together. 

It takes a good ten minutes for Phil to pull himself together after Clint is gone.

**

Another month passes before Phil feels a readiness settle in him that he hasn't experienced before. It's not the immediate signs of an oncoming heat. They're more distant signals, announcing a heat that will come soon. He wants to be sure before he tells Clint. He makes an appointment with Dr. Woodhall, who confirms that Phil's hormones are balanced out and that the chances of conception during his next heat are good. 

The Friday after Phil receives the news, he's sitting on the couch next to Clint, half-empty take-out containers on the coffee table, when he decides it's time to share the news. “I was wondering if—if we could change our plans for the weekend. I know we said we'd go to the park, but it's supposed to rain, and...” Phil isn't sure how to put it. He's only going on a hunch here, without any reliable facts to back him up.

“Yeah?” Clint doesn't even look up from his mission to dig up every last shrimp in the carton containing Pad Thai.

“I think my heat's coming soon—” That makes Clint pause and turn toward Phil. “Not soon as in tomorrow, but I have a feeling—” Phil cringes. “It's on its way. I was thinking back to our first two heats, and they both came on after we'd spent time in close quarters. Maybe if we stay in this weekend, it could help to trigger the heat.”

“Of course. Sure.” Clint sets aside his food. He leans closer. His hand hovers over Phil's middle before settling on his thigh. “You think that could really help?”

Phil nods. “Also, I got the all-clear from Dr. Woodhall.”

Clint's face lights up. “It'll go better this time.”

Phil desperately hopes so. “And we should be able to—I should be able—”

Clint hushes him with a squeeze of his thigh. “Hey, don't put any pressure on yourself. Okay? Whatever happens, happens.” He scratches a hand across his neck. “I, uh, I got myself checked out, too.”

“Checked out?”

“Yeah, you know.” Clint waves his hand. “To make sure I can hold up my end of the bargain.”

Phil frowns.

“I had my sperm count checked,” Clint mumbles.

Clint's shyness about this is rather endearing. So is the consideration that went into having himself checked out, especially since Clint hates doctors. “And?”

“All as it should be.” Clint looks at Phil with such an earnest expression that Phil almost squirms away from his gaze. “This isn't all on you. Not the heat, or what happens after that. You know that, right?”

It's sweet of Clint to say that, but Phil can't help feeling that it's ultimately down to him to make sure the heat is a success. “Right.” He kisses Clint to waylay any further well-meaning reassurances.

**

Phil didn't expect to spend much of the weekend napping on Clint, but that is what happens. Early on Saturday afternoon, he curls into Clint's side and falls asleep within minutes.

When he wakes up, hecan tell he's slept for a while. He's stretched out across the couch cushions, his head on a pillow in Clint's lap. “Sorry, guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Clint smiles. “That's alright. I DVRed the game for you.” He starts stroking over Phil's hair. It feels so good that Phil's eyelids droop again.

“Hmm, thanks.” He burrows into Clint, who's wearing an incredibly soft T-shirt and smells more like himself than the Beta pheromones. “You smell good.”

“Figured it might help. I should be okay for work if I take a double dose on Sunday.”

“'s not recommended.”

“I know. But this is important.” 

Clint rubs his thumb over the skin right behind Phil's ear and all coherent thoughts flee. Phil drifts, content with being warm and safe. His stomach interrupts with rumbles far too soon. 

“Time for food, huh?” Clint sounds amused. 

Phil makes an effort at sitting up. He gets as far as slumping against Clint's chest. “Can we order pizza? Pepperoni and extra cheese.” He doesn't understand why he's starving. They had leftovers for lunch, which wasn't all that long ago.

“We absolutely can.” 

Clint calls in the order. The pizza is hot and greasy and delicious. Phil goes through four slices before his hunger begins to subside.

“I was starting to get jealous of that pizza,” Clint observes. “I usually only hear those noises in very different circumstances.”

Phil reaches for another slice. “I feel like I haven't eaten all day.”

Clint regards him with much fondness. “Maybe your body is stocking up. For the heat. And what might come after.”

The thought didn't occur to Phil, but it makes sense. Maybe the heat is closer than he thinks. “Guess our plan is working, then.”

“I don't have anything critical next week. You?”

“The op in Shanghai.” It's worth months of work. 

“Hand's up to date on that, too, isn't she?”

“Yeah.” But Phil has planned the various levels of back-up that he'd rather not leave in other hands. He knows all the intricate details by heart. When an op goes to shit, this knowledge can make the difference between getting a team out unharmed or risking serious injury, or worse.

There's understanding in Clint's eyes. He knows how much Phil's meticulous planning is worth. It has saved his ass more than once, after all. “At least you're due to stay at HQ.”

There is that. Phil isn't sure if he could leave Clint right now. The mere thought makes him feel anxious. “Maybe the heat will have the decency to wait until after we've run this op.” He tries to make light of that, but isn't entirely successful.

Clint's smile is brief. “Yeah, maybe.”

**

On Sunday night, they've just turned off the light when Clint says, “This was nice. This weekend, I mean.”

Phil leans back into Clint's warmth. It's a cold evening for late spring. “I was worried you felt stir-crazy.” The napping-and-eating pattern hadcontinued throughout the weekend.

“No, it was nice being around you. I mean, not that we don't spend time together. We do. But not like this.”

It's been a while since they spent such a long stretch of time close together. Even when they're off work, Clint puts in his daily time at the range, Phil often retreats to his home office for a few hours on the weekend or goes for a run, and they've learned early on that grocery shopping together doesn't end well. 

“You're right. Let's do this more often.”

Clint rubs his nose over Phil's neck. “How d'you feel?”

Phil smiles. “Ready.”

**

Getting up the next morning is difficult. Not because it's five am, but because it means leaving Clint behind, sleepy and warm. Phil's instincts are pleading with him not to go. He pushes them aside. The Shanghai op goes live at 07:00.

For the next eighteen hours, Phil is consumed by work. He barely sees Clint. When he does, longing flares so strongly that it's nearly impossible to let Clint go. As soon as the team has been extracted safely, Phil leaves. 

It's three in the morning by the time he gets home. He crawls into bed and pushes into Clint's arms. Clint barely wakes, mumbling “you're back” and “missed you” and “love you.” Phil's back in the right place again, finally.

They're eating a rushed breakfast standing up the next morning when Phil notices. The tension running through him is not left over from being awake and focused for too long during the op. He sets down his bowl of cereal and takes stock. Now that he pays attention, the signs are all there: the tight feeling under his skin, the tension in his muscles, and the beginning of that ache which only Clint's knot will soothe.

“Clint,” he calls out softly.

Still bleary eyed, Clint only acknowledges him with a grunt.

Phil steps into his space. “Notice anything?”

“What should I—” Clint stops. He leans closer. “Oh, shit.” Pulling back, he stares at Phil. “So, no work today, then?”

Phil tries to bite back a smile. “I think we could. It probably won't hit for another twelve hours.” Clint looks at him with such unguarded joy that Phil thinks, for the first time in his career, that SHIELD will have to make do without them. “But to be honest, all I want right now is to get back into bed with you.”

Clint kisses him, soft and slow, almost reverent. “You feel good, right? About the heat starting?”

“Yes.” For the first time, Phil's facing a heat without trepidation. It's wonderful. 

There's only the heat leave paperwork left to file. Phil drafted that email a week ago; he sends it with two clicks. He takes off the suit he put on only half an hour ago, watching as Clint strips out of his clothes as well.

The sheets are still warm. The slide of Clint's bare skin feels deeply comforting in the way it only does when a heat is coming on. Phil sinks into the sensation, letting the pull of his instincts wash over him.

**

When the heat hits Phil in earnest, it's with a muted urgency. He pulls Clint close and they trade lazy kisses. Clint slides two fingers into Phil; instead of feeling like an unsatisfying tease, the slow in-and-out holds the promise of more. 

Phil waits until the ache takes on a sharp edge, then rolls onto his knees and elbows. He rests his forehead on his arms. Clint's splayed hand makes a path from the small of Phil's back to his nape, palm pressing into skin with just enough force to hint at the coiled strength in Clint's muscles. It makes Phil feel protected.

Clint pushes inside and lets out a whine, his hips snapping forward in what feels like an involuntary movement. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“'s okay.” That unexpected thrust called forth a tingling rush all through Phil, and he reaches back to grasp Clint's thigh, keeping him deep. Phil rolls his hips, groaning at the shift and press of Clint's cock.

Clint whimpers. The hand he has on Phil's neck moves just enough to press into the bonding scar. A current sparks through Phil. In its wake, he feels boneless. His hand slides off Clint's thigh, and he has just enough energy left to drag that arm back under him. Clint starts moving with measured strokes, kindling the ache in Phil, coaxing it to build. It soon burns bright, finally taking Phil to the point where he is desperate for Clint's knot. Clint feels entirely too far away, but words are too difficult, so he begs Clint closer with a trembling hand and needy noises. Clint is there in an instant, folding himself over Phil, solid and warm against his back. 

“I'm here, it's okay, shhh,” Clint whispers, nuzzling Phil's cheek. 

When Clint's tongue licks over Phil's neck in rough swipes, he's gone. He drowns in the release of tension, only surfacing when he feels Clint's knot swell in him. It brings the familiar calm with it, so welcome Phil nearly sobs.

Clint carefully guides them down to lie on their sides. Phil curls in on himself, Clint following. A wave of exhaustion hits Phil. 

“You okay?” Clint sounds hesitant.

Phil wants to explain that he's fine, that he's falling into the kind of tiredness that runs deep but is comfortable, but all he gets out is an affirmative hum.

“Alright. Tell me if you need anything, okay?”

Phil manages a nod. Clint's hand brushes through his hair, down over his shoulder and side before halting. “Can I?” Clint's fingers inch forward over Phil's hip. “Is this okay?”

As soon as Phil can process what Clint's asking for, there's a want in him, a need to have Clint's hand on him. “Please.”

Clint's hand settles below Phil's navel. Having its warm weight there is satisfying in and of itself, but when Clint starts rubbing in gentle circles, the satisfaction turns into something that holds a lot more weight. Clint's done this before, during previous heats, but it has never meant this much. Phil drifts off with a fervent hope in his heart.

**

This heat is more languid than the others they've shared. Phil doesn't need Clint's knot as often, but even after three days, the ache in Phil seems far from sated. Previously, the heat wound down by this point, but that doesn't seem to be the case this time. At least there are hours between the cycles of need, allowing them to sleep and eat and move between the couch and the bed. Nevertheless, Phil is glad for the past weekend because they hardly sleep more than five hours at a time and he's never hungry for more than a snack, even though Clint tries his best to get him to eat more.

It's late on day four when Phil feels need rise up in him again as they're lying on the couch together. He dozes while Clint watches a documentary about the origins of the universe. Clint's fingers are drawing random patterns over Phil's side. It's just enough contact to let the need build without immediately doing something about it. Not yet wanting to alert Clint, Phil tries to lie still as his cock thickens against his thigh.

A shimmy of hips finally gives Phil away. Clint makes a pleased noise and pulls him flush. “Want to go back to bed?”

“Here's good.” He wiggles until Clint's cock slips between the cheeks of his ass. 

“Jesus, how long have you been waiting?” He can probably feel how slick Phil has gotten.

“Not long. Wanted to—” Clint pushes Phil's thigh out of the way. “Wanted to wait.” It's worth it; Phil groans from the pleasure of feeling Clint in him again.

“Tease,” Clint murmurs, brushing a kiss against Phil's shoulder.

Phil ends up pressed into couch. Clint's weight on him is comforting rather than oppressive and the fleece blanket under him soft enough to provide the right kind of friction as his cock drags over it. 

Soon, Clint's breath breaks against Phil's neck in bursts and his hips stutter with quick thrusts. “Can't—oh, fuck—”

It must be an Alpha thing that has Clint always so intent on making sure Phil comes first, but Phil rather enjoys feeling Clint lose control. “Just don't stop.”

Clint doesn't. He continues to move, pressing his growing knot into Phil. He stays nearly the whole way inside, being a little too cautious for what Phil wants. “Let it slide out.”

Clint hesitates.

“Please.”

Slowly, Clint moves back. The knot catches on Phil's hole. It's just the right kind of momentary ache. The corresponding pressure as Clint pushes in again is perfect, too. Phil is slick and open enough to feel the breach, but no pain. Shivers run through his entire body as Clint fucks him, slowly, but without any hesitation. Phil bites his lip. He doesn't want to come yet, not until Clint's knot has fully formed and they're tied together. On the last stroke, it takes a second for Phil's body to give way. They both sigh as the knot slips inside. It's anchored in Phil, heavy and full. As soon as Phil relaxes, he comes in slow pulses. 

After Phil slumps against the cushions, Clint kisses his shoulder. “Nearly made me come again,” he whispers. 

Phil pets his flank in acknowledgment. He's content to float a while longer, barely noticing when Clint manhandles him onto his side to get at his stomach. The steady circles of Clint's hand are another layer in the sensations that contribute to Phil's satiated, content state of mind.

At least until an unfamiliar warmth expands under Clint's palm. Phil thinks it's friction at first, but it sits lower under his skin. He closes his hand over Clint's, stilling its movement. 

“What? Want me to stop?”

“No. It's...” He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know what's happening. But he can feel _something_ , a warmth that is shifting and growing more intense. It can't possibly be—

“Phil?”

Phil shakes his head and burrows into the crook of his own arm. With much effort, he lets go of Clint's hand. “Keep going.”

Clint follows his request. Heat blooms where his fingers touch Phil's skin, spreading and circling until something settles. The warmth ebbs away. Shortly after, Clint knot loosens. Phil turns around to hold onto him, tucking his head under Clint's chin.

Clint's arm comes around Phil's back. “What just happened?”

He sounds so uncertain. Phil wishes he could explain, but he can't even allow himself to think about what may have just happened. What he felt. Because that's impossible. Isn't it? But Clint deserves an answer. “I'm not sure. There was—I felt—I don't know. I'm sorry.”

“Was it good? What you felt?”

Phil's eyes burn. “It was.” He chokes on the last word.

Clint doesn't ask any more questions. He holds Phil, smoothing a hand down his back. When Phil regains his composure, Clint asks, “Bed now?”

That sounds wonderful. They're nearly in the bedroom when Clint pulls Phil close and kisses him with an intensity that startles. “Love you so fucking much,” he mumbles against Phil's lips.

Phil brings his hand up to Clint's cheek, thumb tracing over the stubble there. “Me, too. Always.”

**

Phil wakes, feeling various aches, but none of the thrum that was a constant presence over the last four days. He's tangled with Clint, as they often are when they wake, Clint's head on his shoulder, one arm flung over Phil's waist, and one of his legs tucked between Phil's. He's awake, too—Phil can tell by his breathing—but seems in no hurry to move. 

“How're you feeling?” Clint's words nearly slur together against Phil's skin.

“Good. Tired.”

Phil can feel Clint smile. They stay in bed for a little while longer before Clint drags Phil into the shower. The hot water feels good against his skin; his eyes close when Clint's hands start spreading soap over him. Phil likes this part. There are just enough heat hormones left in his body to let all sense of responsibility go, certain in the knowledge that Clint will take care of him. It means Phil can enjoy the sensation of Clint's hands on him as they make careful yet certain paths over his body.

As Clint's palms slide across Phil's chest and stomach, he asks, “Do you think it took?”

“Think so. But I don't want to jinx it.”

Clint's hand stills right where it rested earlier, when Phil felt that warmth bloom under it. “We'll know in a week.”

“Yeah.” Phil doesn't think he needs that week to be certain. He opens his eyes just in time to see Clint stare down at their feet, trying very hard to bite back a smile. It's endearing and infectious. Phil leans closer to kiss Clint, which turns out to be difficult because they're both smiling like complete idiots. 

They break apart, laughing, and then Clint pulls Phil close, burying his head in the crook of his neck, whispering, “Thank you.”

Their skin is starting to wrinkle when they finally get out of the shower. Clint pulls on sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Phil gets as far as boxers and a T-shirt when the bed distracts him, sheets still crumpled. He wants nothing more than slip under the covers again.

“Do you want to order take-out?”

Food is probably a good idea. Phil doesn't feel hungry, though. “Can you order it? I want to lie down again until it gets here.” He starts stripping the bed.

Clint pulls fresh sheets from the linen closet. “You okay?”

“Fine. Guess this heat really took it out of me.”

They finish making up the bed. Phil lies down, pulling the comforter up to his nose. He hears Clint saying that he'll wake him when the food arrives, but the words are already distant.

**

Phil wakes to Clint stroking his hair. “Hmm.”

“Hey there.”

It feels like more time has passed than the twenty minutes it should have taken for their favorite Thai place to deliver their order. Phil can't muster the energy to ask, however.

“Feel like getting up?”

Phil cracks open an eye. “Food's here?”

Clint looks at him with amusement. “It's been here for a while. You slept for a couple of hours.”

Phil groans. “Should've woken me.”

“You slept through the doorbell. And me dropping half the silverware drawer. You clearly needed it.”

“Still.” Phil struggles upright only to slump immediately against Clint. “Shouldn't be so tired.”

Clint's arm comes around him. “Maybe your body's working on something that's sapping all your energy.”

The fondness in Clint's voice brings a smile to Phil's face. “Yeah, maybe.”

**

A week later, Phil sits next to Clint in Dr. Woodhall's office, and he hasn't heard a single word since “Congratulations to you both.” The conversation happening around him sounds like static. He tries to focus but his mind is stuck on the fact that he's indeed pregnant, that he and Clint will have a baby in about nine months, that their entire lives are going to change. 

When they leave, Clint turns to him. “You didn't hear a single word in there, did you?”

Phil didn't think he'd been that obvious. “No.”

Clint tugs at his hand, pulling him out of the way of a team of doctors rushing down the main hallway in Medical. “Don't think he noticed. You had your 'I'm paying 150% attention'-face on.”

“Did I miss anything important?”

Clint gives him an incredulous look. “He's emailing us an info packet.”

“Good.” Phil can handle info packets. They're organized and familiar. Unlike everything else about this situation. “Let's go home.”

“I got us a car. Figured we might not want to brave the subway.”

Phil is infinitely grateful for Clint's foresight. They'd purposefully picked an appointment late in the day so they could go straight home after. The ride feels longer than twenty minutes, and Phil is glad he has Clint's hand to hold onto. He's not sure why he feels anxious, but it's undeniable that he does.

As soon as they get into their apartment, Phil needs to sit down. He manages to toe off his shoes and hang up his coat, but then he heads straight for the couch. He collapses into it, then straightens to lean forward, elbows on his knees. He tries to breathe deeply to dispel the shaky feeling that's taken hold of him.

Clint kneels down in front of him. He takes Phil's trembling hands into one of his. The other hand comes up to stroke the side of his face. “Everything's fine. Okay?” He tries to catch Phil's gaze.

Phil briefly glances at him before returning his eyes to their clasped hands. “This is really happening.”

“Yeah.” Clint pushes up on his knees to gather Phil into his arms. A strong hand rubs Phil's back. “And I'm here for all of it. Whatever you need.”

Phil nods against Clint's neck. He gives himself another minute to let some of the anxiety subside, then pulls away just far enough that he can see Clint's face. “How about the Cliffs-Notes version of what Woodhall said?”

“There was a lot of stuff about—well, I guess the details are in that package. Appointment schedule, too, I think. But it basically boiled down to you needing to remember that it's not just you anymore. Apparently SHIELD agents aren't good with that sometimes.”

Phil huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, can't imagine why.” He knows that will be a challenge. He's used to pushing his body beyond its limits, to using up every last available resource. That's off the table. “I'll try, but I need you to remind me.”

“If by 'reminding you' you mean forcing you to sleep and eat in regular intervals, then yeah, I'll remind you.”

“What if you're not here?”

Clint's eyes dart away. There's a renewed determination in them when he looks at Phil again. “We can still talk when one of us is away. Most of the time, anyway.”

They both know that that's an ideal situation. Unpredictability is the only constant in their line of work.

“And I've been thinking—” Clint hesitates. “I want to cut down on the time I'm in the field, at least when we're not on an op together.”

“You can't do that.” It's not even an option that Phil is willing to consider. “You're one of SHIELD's most valuable agents.”

“I know that. And if an op really depends on my skills, I'll go. But doing stuff like reminding you to eat and sleep is important, too.” 

Phil wants to object, wants to let Clint know that he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Except that past experience tells him that he's not where areas outside of work are concerned. He has put SHIELD's needs first for nearly as long as he can remember. It'll be hard to change that. Phil tells himself that he can do this. That they can do this. But the anxiety threatens to crest again. It must show on his face because Clint frowns.

“Sorry. I'm—” Phil doesn't know how to explain it.

Clint nuzzles his cheek. “'s okay. Let me try something?”

Phil nods.

Clint slowly loosens the knot of Phil's tie, untangles it, and slides it off his neck. He rolls it up and sets it aside. His fingers return to undo the top buttons of Phil's shirt, slowly, one by one. Clint pushes the collar out of the way and tugs aside the undershirt. His breath is warm against Phil's skin as he leans in, tongue flattening in a long lick over the bonding scar.

Phil exhales. His hand settles on Clint's nape, keeping him in place. Encouraging him. With every swipe of Clint's tongue, Phil feels the tension drain away a little more. The feeling is not quite as intense as during a heat, but there are other hormones swirling around in his system and they seem to heighten the sensation of this, too. That insight is nearly as calming as what Clint is doing. It's funny—the strength of his instincts, and the feelings and desires that come with them, unsettled Phil not too long ago, but now he's glad that there will be something that can cut through anxious thoughts. It won't work all the time, he's sure, but at least there's something they can try.

Clint deserves to know that this is working, too, so Phil lets him hear the pleased little noises that he might hold back otherwise. Clint squeezes his hand in acknowledgment. His lips close over the scar, now overly sensitive. He sucks, and before Phil can even react to the tingles that rush through him, Clint bites down. It's not more than a sharp nip, but its impact ripples through Phil, bringing with it that syrupy warmth that pushes away any lingering worry he had.

Clint helps him lie down on the couch and fits himself next to Phil. “Glad that helped. I was worried you might faint on me.”

“Than'you” is all Phil manages, intent on floating on that safety for as long as he can.

**

Due to all his years at SHIELD, Phil is familiar with exhaustion and sleep-deprivation, but never to the levels he experiences in the first weeks of the pregnancy. He wants to sleep all the time. It doesn't matter how much sleep he gets at night, by mid-morning he feels tired all over again. He knows this is temporary, that he'll get his energy back, but it is inconvenient and annoying in the meantime. Phil doesn't have a job that he can neglect. Not paying attention means people die. What ends up happening is that he neglects Clint. Or at least Phil feels that that's what he does when he goes to bed right after dinner. Clint doesn't seem to feel the same way—he still shows up with lunch each day, lets Phil take cat naps against his shoulder, and listens when Phil rants about all the time that gets sucked away by sleeping.

One morning, Phil wakes up without being torn out of sleep by his alarm. It's been so long since that happened that it is disorienting at first. The sun is up, too, which is another unusual thing, and it suggests that it's well into the morning. But Clint is still next to him, so it can't be that late. Clint's asleep on his stomach, a little curled in on himself, facing Phil. Turning onto his side, Phil settles a hand on his back. 

Before too long, the pattern of Clint's breathing changes. His eyes open slowly. Half his face is smooshed into the pillow, but his smile is still beautiful. “Hi.”

“Hey.” It comes out with a croak. Phil isn't sure why his throat feels tight—he sees Clint every day, even sees him smile every day. But it's been a long time since they've woken up like this together. Phil wiggles closer until their noses touch. “Feels late.”

“P'bably is.”

“Didn't the alarm go off?”

“It did—it—” A yawn interrupts Clint. “I hit snooze three times because you were dead to the world. Then I took a shower and made coffee, which barely got a grunt out of you.”

“I didn't wake up for the precious half cup I can have?”

“Nope.”

Phil resigns himself to the fact that Clint made the right call in letting him sleep in. “Why are you still here?” That didn't come out right. “Not that I mind. But didn't you have meetings?”

“Moved them. Wasn't anything critical.”

“Did Maria put you up to this?”

Clint shifts onto his side. He wraps an arm around Phil's waist. “Yeah. I called in to explain that you wouldn't come in this morning, and we decided that everything you and I were scheduled for was routine stuff, so I should stay with you.”

Phil sighs. “I appreciate it, but even the routine stuff needs to be taken care of. And I did have the quarterly budget meeting at ten, and there were three potential recruits Woo wanted to discuss, and he's off on an op this afternoon—” He realizes he's working himself up for another rant. Neither he nor Clint needs that. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, babe.”

Phil wishes he could take to the situation like Clint has. Taking things as they come and adjusting as necessary. 

“People get it, y'know.” Clint sounds hesitant. “The ones that know about the baby, anyway.”

Phil almost corrects Clint about calling the embryo a baby, but he doesn't want to have that argument again. It might be overly superstitious, but Phil doesn't want to get too attached yet. There's a lot that can happen in the first trimester, after all. While Clint is aware of that, too, he still insists on talking about “the baby” because, as he explained to Phil, it made it easier for him to believe everything would be fine. 

“Phil?”

“Sorry. Yeah. I know.” Not wanting to dwell, Phil asks, “When did you say we'd come in?”

“After lunch.”

“What time is it now?”

Clint reaches for his phone. “10:30.”

They should get up. Do something with the morning. Have sex, even. They haven't had sex in weeks, and Phil knows Clint misses it. Hell, Phil misses it, but he has absolutely not been in the mood for anything more than a quick handjob, and even that was so long ago that the memory is a little fuzzy. 

“Do you want to sleep some more? We can get another hour if we're quick about lunch.”

Phil wants more sleep. But there's something else he wants more. “Could we...” He feels dumb asking for this. “Make out?”

A sweet smile crosses Clint's face. “You want to make out with me?”

Phil hates the way his cheeks heat. “Yes. I don't know if I'm up for more, but—”

“Shh, that's totally fine, c'mere...” Clint rolls onto his back and tugs Phil mostly on top of him. “This good?”

Phil nods and kisses Clint. They kiss all the time, of course, but it's usually rather routine, or it leads to sex. It's not often like this—just for the sake of it. Clint's tongue slips into Phil's mouth and his fingers trail down Phil's back. It's all very slow and soft, enough for Phil to lose himself in it. But he notices when Clint gets hard and pushes his hips up against Phil's.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbles against Clint's lips when it becomes clear that his cock is not interested in what's going on.

Clint makes an impatient noise. “'s okay. But can I—do you mind?”

“Go ahead. Here—” Phil slides his leg between Clint's. “Better?”

“Fuck, yes.” Clint pushes up to capture Phil's mouth again.

Clint lets out the most amazing little noises as he grinds against Phil's leg—moans and whines and gasps. Phil's often too caught up in his own pleasure to notice. When Clint's lips slide away because he can't focus on kissing anymore, Phil watches as a flush spreads over Clint's neck and face, tinting his skin. Clint can't seem to keep his eyes open when he's this close. When Clint chokes on a breath, Phil knows that sound, knows what it signals—Clint’s fingers tighten into a fist in Phil's shirt and he comes with a groan. Feeling Clint's cock pulse makes Phil shiver in a hardwired response. He leans down to nuzzle Clint. Another shudder runs through Clint before all tension leaves him.

“Thank you,” Clint says once he's found his voice again. 

“Wasn't exactly a hardship.” Phil draws his thumb over Clint's cheek. 

“I've missed this.”

Phil swallows hard. “I could tell. I'm supposed to get more interested in all of this again in a few weeks.”

“I get it. There's a lot going on with you. But if we could do this some more, that'd be great. Awesome, even.”

Fondness washes over Phil. “Beats jerking off in the shower?”

Clint's eyes dart away. “Noticed that, huh?”

Phil smiles. “Kind of hard to miss.”

“But you don't mind if we do more of this?”

“Mind you looking breathtakingly gorgeous getting off right next to me? No. I don't mind that.”

The flush on Clint's face is back and he rolls his eyes.

Phil's smile widens. “Just stating facts.” He noses along Clint's jaw. “Let's make out some more.”

“What about more sleep?”

“Don't feel like sleeping anymore.”

**

Phil comes to rely on quiet evenings on the couch with Clint to wind down enough to get to sleep early. They've done this before, of course, but it wasn't a routine. However once Phil admits to himself that he needs more sleep than he used to, he curls into Clint every evening after dinner, provided that they are both at home. 

Today was a particularly strenuous day, and Phil wants nothing more than let himself be lulled into sleep by the sure touch of Clint's hands. He's about to lean into Clint's side when the same thing happens as every other night in the past week: he has a strange moment of disassociation when he can clearly see Clint, but his scent is that of a stranger. It gives Phil pause, but then everything slots into place: Phil recognizes the pheromone-induced Beta scent as Clint's and settles against him. 

Clint's arm comes around him, hand sneaking under Phil's T-shirt to get at his skin. Everything seems just like always, at least until Clint says, “Is there something, I don't know, off about me? Because almost every time you get close to me recently, you kind of hesitate.”

Phil should have known that Clint would notice. He could pretend that he doesn't know what's going on or why this is happening, but that would be unfair to Clint. “It's your scent. It's not—right. It's never bothered me before when you've been on the Beta pheromones, but this past week, it's started to throw me off.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the pregnancy?”

“Probably, but I haven't looked into it.”

Clint doesn't respond. Phil wonders if Clint's mind snapped back to the conversation they had months ago, when they talked about the possibility of Clint stopping to take the Beta pheromones once Phil was pregnant. Phil hasn't brought it up again yet; he figured it could wait until his pregnancy was more official—in other words, until he starts showing to the degree that it can't be explained away with just having put on a few extra pounds. But apparently, there are things happening earlier that force this conversation.

Clint shifts away a little, leaning against the arm of the couch to look at Phil. The position forces him to let go of Phil, but he takes his hand into a loose hold. “You want me to stop taking them?”

Clint's face is inscrutable, but Phil knows from previous conversations that Clint doesn't really want to reveal his Alpha status to everyone at SHIELD. “I can't ask that of you.”

“But what if this gets worse?” He looks down, tracing over Phil's hand with his thumb. “What if it makes you not want to be close to me anymore?”

“That's not going to happen.” The look Clint gives him suggests he believes the opposite. “It's not. I need you far too much to ever let that happen. Especially now.”

Clint swallows and looks away again. “I'll do it if you want. You've asked me before if I would.”

“And you've told me before how much you dislike all the Alpha posturing and territorialism that happens even at SHIELD.” 

Clint shrugs.

“I was going to bring it up again later, when this—” Phil gestures at his stomach, “becomes more obvious.”

“So people would know it's mine,” Clint says softly. “Ours.”

Phil lowers his voice as well. “Yeah. I still want that. I think the rumor mill has established our relationship pretty well by now anyway, so it wouldn't be a complete shock.”

“Except the whole Alpha thing.”

“Except that. And we could keep it that way if you want to stay on the Beta pheromones. People have kids outside of Alpha and Omega bonds.”

Clint shakes his head. “You know that's considered—”

“Weird? Not normal? I didn't think you cared.”

Clint sighs and lets his head drop back against the couch. “I don't really, but...”

“But you care that we've bonded and we've decided to have a child.” It's just a guess, but considering that this is something they both didn't expect to have in their lives and consequently cherish, Phil doesn't think he's too far off.

“I do. So do you. Right?”

Phil lets a kiss answer Clint's uncertain question. He's about to break away when Clint keeps him close, turning the kiss into something longer and deeper. 

“I'll do it.” Clint brushes his lips over Phil's again. “I don't ever want to see you shy away from me again.”

“And SHIELD?”

“I'll figure it out.” Clint leans in again, putting an end to any further conversation.

**

A few weeks later, Clint walks into Phil's office with a split lip and a bruised cheek.

“What happened?” Phil grabs his first-aid kit from the bottom drawer of his desk.

“Territorial dispute.” Clint drops onto the couch, slouching down until he can rest his head on the back.

Phil sits down next to him. “Excuse me?”

“Ran over my range time.” Clint shrugs.

Phil holds Clint's chin in a firm grasp as he cleans the tear in his lip. “Go on.”

Clint sighs. He waits until Phil is done before he continues his explanation. “There was another agent waiting. And when I started one last run even though I was technically past my allotted time, he started saying stuff like 'don't think you can play in the big leagues now just because they've put you on AP for a mission.'”

“He thought you were on pheromones?” Phil feels along Clint's cheekbone to make sure it isn't fractured. Clint flinches away. “Sorry. Don't think it's broken.”

“It's fine. Thanks.” Clint's eyes close.

“So, AP?”

“Yeah. I think that's the common story that's going around to explain my switch.”

Phil picks up Clint's left hand. His knuckles look scraped, which might not be from the fight. Phil rubs salve on them anyway. “You'd think trained SHIELD agents would be able to distinguish between AP and a natural scent.”

“I don't let anyone get close enough to tell. Besides, I've always been a Beta to them, so.” Clint opens his eyes and laces their fingers together. “'s not a big deal.”

Phil wants to object. There are apparently still too many people at SHIELD who don't fully appreciate Clint's contribution to the agency. In part this is due to Clint's very calculated behavior. Although, how anyone can come away from a mission with Clint and not realize that he's extraordinary baffles Phil. “How did your dispute escalate beyond words?”

It takes Clint some time to answer. “I wasn't going to finish my last run early. So he shut down the lane. And he tried to take my bow.”

That would do it. All agents have a special relationship with their service weapons, but Clint more than most. “Who was the agent?”

“McMillan.”

“I'll report him.”

“Phil, no—”

“It's against regulation. And he's a lower rank than you.” Clint looks back defiantly for a long moment before his eyes slide away. “I'm still technically responsible for you even though you also run solo ops now.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Phil shifts closer to Clint, who takes him up on the silent invitation to rest his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil picks up on Clint's scent and feels his muscles unwind. It hasn't been a particularly stressful day, but he's always on high alert at the office.

“My cheek's going to hurt like a bitch,” Clint mutters.

“I have Advil.”

“Hmm, later maybe.” Clint settles more heavily against Phil.

“The Beta pheromones are still an option,” Phil points out quietly.

“Thanks, but no. I'll manage.”

Phil draws in a breath to clarify further why this is very much Clint's choice, but he's cut off before getting a word out.

“Let me do this for you, okay? You're doing so much for us, and it's not exactly easy on you.”

Phil can't argue with that. It has helped that Clint's scent is that of his bondmate all the time now. There's a comfort in it that Phil still cannot really explain. “Okay. But if this happens again—”

“Try to find a more diplomatic solution?”

“I was going to say hit back harder.”

Clint snorts. “Oh, I wouldn't worry about that.”

Phil smiles. He doesn't endorse physical altercations between agents, but he's always been in favor of putting assholes in their place. He brushes a kiss against Clint's temple and gets up to retrieve the Advil.

**

A month later Phil wakes up in the middle of the night. Clint isn't next to him. Phil checks his phone; there's no text. No emergency op, then. Phil detours through the bathroom—probably the reason why he woke up in the first place—before walking into the dark living room.

“Clint?”

“Over here.”

Phil rounds the couch. Clint has fit himself into the small space between the couch and the wall, one arm slung around his drawn-up knees. He looks down at a piece of paper on the floor next to him that he holds in place with his fingertips.

“Mind if I join you?”

Clint shakes his head. He makes room for Phil. As he sits down, Phil realizes that the paper in Clint's hand is the print-out from this morning's ultrasound. Once settled, Phil winds his hand into Clint's hair, fingers finding whorls. 

Clint lets out a pleased hum. He turns his head to look at Phil instead of down at the photo.

“Couldn't sleep?” Phil asks.

“Something like that.” He looks tired. Not only from lack of sleep, but also from what's weighing on his mind.

“Can I see?” Phil gestures at the printout. Clint hands it over. There isn't much to see, really. Medical has a much higher-resolution ultrasound than the one that produced this image, but it was needed for an emergency. Phil doesn't mind, and Clint doesn't seem to care, either, since the shapes that are visible clearly drew his attention anyway. “We made a very handsome blob.”

A small smile appears on Clint's face. “Blob with a heartbeat.”

“Yeah. Crazy, huh?” It had taken both of them by surprise. Phil didn't know that they'd be able to see it, but among all the blurriness, it had been strangely clear. It's still hard to imagine that he's looking at something that is happening inside of him.

Clint traces one finger over the outline of what's to become their baby.

“This what kept you up?” Phil asks carefully.

Clint hums and rubs his thumb across his lips.

Keeping his hand on Clint's nape, Phil kisses the shell of his ear and the edge of his jaw. He doesn't move away after, pressing close to create an even smaller space between them. The smaller the place, the safer Clint feels. That's why he came to sit between the couch and the wall. 

“I don't know how—” Clint starts. The words are puffs of air against Phil's skin. “Never mind. It's stupid.”

“I'd like to hear it anyway.”

Clint's nose rubs against Phil's cheek. “It's just...it was amazing to see the heartbeat, but also kinda terrifying, you know? I don't know—I have no fucking clue how to do this. I never even had a family, really, and I still don't know how I got lucky enough to be with you. Sorry. This is—sorry.”

Phil's immediate instinct is to reassure Clint. It's what he usually does when Clint's insecurities surface. But the truth is that he's had similar thoughts. Which are perfectly normal, apparently. But that doesn't make them any less difficult to deal with.

“Nothing to be sorry about. I feel very lucky about us, too. You know that. And I might have a little more experience in the family department, but that doesn't mean I know how to do this. Baby thing. Raising a kid. But that's probably supposed to be hard.”

Phil can feel Clint's smile. “Not your best motivational speech.”

“I'm improvising. Did it work?”

“Maybe. Sorry for dumping this on you. I've always been the one—I know I've pushed for this. And I still...” Clint sucks in a breath. “I still want this. Just to be clear.”

Phil leans his cheek against Clint's. “I never doubted it.”

“Okay. Good.”

Phil kisses the patch of skin closest to him, which turns out to be the corner of Clint's eye. “Will you come back to bed with me?”

“I'm not sure if I can sleep.”

“Please. I like having you next to me.” While that's true, it's also a sure way to motivate Clint to come with him. Phil feels certain that Clint will be able to fall asleep once they're back in bed.

“'kay.”

Clint brings the printout with him and sets it on the nightstand, placing his phone on top of it. Phil draws Clint into his arms. He means to stay awake until Clint is asleep, but the drowsy-warm comfort of having Clint close draws him under too fast.

** 

A week later, Phil slumps against Clint in their post-dinner ritual. He'll definitely fall asleep on Clint tonight—it's been a rather strenuous day. Phil shifts until he's comfortable and exhales. Through the fog of exhaustion, he notices that Clint holds himself very still.

“Something wrong?” Phil asks.

“I—there's—when you—” There's a minute tremble in Clint's voice.

Phil straightens. “There's what?” He asks softly.

“Here,” Clint whispers. With purposefully slow movements, he slides a hand under Phil's T-shirt, pushing it just beneath the elastic of the sweatpants Phil's wearing. His palm settles over the small bump that has only become noticeable over the past few days. “I could feel it. When you leaned against me.”

Phil takes a few steadying breaths. Clint's hand is incredibly warm against his skin. He'd noticed the way his abdomen started to curve outward, but it was more of an abstract thought when he tried to close the button on his pants or hurried through his morning shower. It's been quite the week, so there wasn't any time to process this development.

“Did you notice?”

Clint's looking at him, but Phil keeps staring down at his body. He folds his hand over Clint's, and that helps, a little. Phil isn't sure why he feels—he doesn't even know how to label it. Confused. Which is odd because he knew this would happen soon. He clears his throat. “I did. In a way.”

Clint's arm slides around his shoulder and he tucks himself closer. “Are you freaking out?”

Phil smiles into his neck. “Maybe.”

“Just imagine what it'll be like when you can feel the baby move.”

Phil groans. “Not helping.” Although he has to admit he's curious about that.

“It'll be amazing.” The awe in Clint's voice eases the confusion in Phil. Clint will greet each new development during the coming months with that kind of wonder. That's the kind of person Clint is. 

Of course it's also easier for Clint. His body isn't the one that's going through all these changes. But his life will get turned upside down as well. “Remind me of that. That in the end, this is amazing. Fucking amazing, even.”

“I will.” Clint nudges Phil's cheek until Phil turns his head enough to fit their mouths together. “Promise.”


End file.
